


You're the Most Beautiful Girl on Earth, Dolores...

by 3jelly_beanss



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Apocalypse, Asexual Character, Dancing, Dead People, Drunk Dancing, Drunk Number Five | The Boy, F/M, Sad, and his time when he traveled too far in the future, five is asexual in this, like his time with dolores, lonely five, yeah idk i just want to write about five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25893082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3jelly_beanss/pseuds/3jelly_beanss
Summary: Number Five has been stranded in the future for five years. It's been a thoroughly miserable period of time, though he does have two comforts: the mannequin he's been carrying around all these long years and a substantial amount of alcohol.
Relationships: Dolores & Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Dolores/Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	You're the Most Beautiful Girl on Earth, Dolores...

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't proofread so I apologize for any mistakes! enjoy!

A boy walked into an apocalyptic wasteland. Yeah, there's no real end to that joke, because said boy had been living it for five years now. He'd quickly adjusted. Well, after the crying, screaming fits, the panic attacks, and the desperate attempts to get back to his own time. 

The boy had quickly discovered the bodies of his closest family members. He recognized them immediately, despite them being significantly older, lying under piles of burnt rubble and ash, slowly decomposing. He dug a glass eye out of Luther's death grip (ha ha.) and knew that it had to be important. So he shoved it in his pocket.

You know what, let's skip the screaming into the empty universe for someone, anyone else, all the misery and pain, in favor of a slightly better time. Five years after the apocalypse, the boy had officially gone through puberty. He wasn't a fan. It meant a lot more sweating, and that was unwelcome in this climate. He'd found a companion early on, a delightful and unfortunately silent mannequin named Dolores. Well, Dolores had been silent at first, but when the boy started talking to her she really opened up. Their friendship had blossomed into young love. The boy smiled as he thought about how often they sounded like an old married couple what with the way they argued. Also, Dolores was such a worrywart, always concerned about him. It was sweet, but sometimes annoying. The boy loved her anyways, what the hell.

The boy didn't quite have a name. He'd always had two things, a title and a number. His title was 'the boy' and his number was five. How far away and insignificant his father, his siblings, and all of their needless struggles seemed now. Five thought about each of the other numbered children, the troubled Klaus, the discarded Vanya. Allison and Luther were always in the spotlight, and they managed to perform well there. Diego was slightly left of the spotlight, stuttering and imperfect. He was always trying so hard to get there though. Ben, the poor deceased member of their stupid academy. He had been so bright and full of life. At least, when he didn't have to use his powers. He'd hated the terrifying power he had been blessed with, the slippery, crushing tentacles that decimated enemies, leaving him shaky, upset, and covered in blood. Five had always felt like sort of an outcast. Most of them were, in their own ways. Five's power, teleportation, was highly envied by his siblings. They thought it was simple, easy, and, in Diego's words, 's-super O.P.' Ha. They didn't remember how hard he had trained to get where he was? The hours after lessons he begged his cold, detached father to teach him more? He had earned this power, and yet he felt as though it wasn't enough. He'd always wanted more. More knowledge, more control, more power, more everything, and that had gotten him here: Trudging through a barren wasteland covered in debris.

The boy wasn't sure what had happened to cause the end of the world. He knew it couldn't have been good. He knew his superhero siblings hadn't been able to stop it, so who was he to try? Well, he was a stubborn, miserable kid that just wanted his family back. So he started making plans to stop the apocalypse five years ago. He'd also been working on an equation to get back home. No luck yet on either end.

So he shuffled around the abandoned world, pulling a wagon with some food and water and a one-armed mannequin. Also, lots and lots of alcohol. Maybe he was 18 and not officially 'drinking age' but who the fuck was going to stop him? Sure, he'd thought about the damage to his brain, but he'd also considered the possibility that he'd die here, and that overruled the previous thought.

He had a shelter built in the center of town. He stayed in town most of the time, even though he could've decided to take a trip across the country in one of the beaten-up cars covered in dust. He wanted to stay close to home in case anything happened or he figured out how to get back. Also, it was safer to have a permanent base, as he wasn't a fan of the nomadic lifestyle. Making a new shelter every night to sleep would've been annoying. 

The shelter was pretty shabby. Sprigs of bright green grass grew up and vines tangled around the edges of the dilapidated building. The place's roof had collapsed, so Five had cleared out the rubble and spread a tarp over the top in case it rained. He covered the floor with lavish, ruined rugs from a nearby mansion. The walls were covered in shelves filled with books he stole from people's homes and the library. 

Yes, Five condoned stealing. Even before the apocalypse, he hadn't been a fan of following rules, and now that nothing had consequences, he did whatever the fuck he wanted. 

Another thing he stole was an old record player and someone's giant record collection. He'd listened to all of them by now and had his favorites on a small shelf. There were some Beatles albums, Metallica, Elvis, Tears for Fears, Toto, Elton John, and Earth, Wind & Fire. There were lots more, some weird obscure stuff, some swing music from the forties, stuff in languages he didn't know. As he scribbled obsessively in various books and journals, he liked to turn the record player on.

He weaved through the many paths he'd made that lead to his favorite haunts of the post-apocalypse: A falling-apart bar, grocery stores and valuable food sources, the library, and most importantly, his shelter. That's where he was going now, grumbling as he kicked aside small things that had blown into the well-worn path by the wind. 

"Dolores, do you ever think about fate? You know, destiny?" Five asked, head tilted to the side. His hair, matted and cut raggedly to sit at his cheekbones, fluttered in the stale wind. He had to cut it himself. It had grown into a long, messy bob a couple years ago that he'd hated and it had been impossible to style, so he found a pair of scissors and snipped it off. He knew nothing about cutting hair, though, so he looked like an idiot for a few months. He waited patiently for the mannequin's response. He scoffed and smiled back at her. "Yeah, me neither. I mean, everything is borne of individual events and coincidences. Unless there's really something above, there's no way things are supposed to go or supposed to be, right? Everything should do whatever it wants and that creates reality. Or something."

He looked at his feet as he walked and heaved a relieved sigh when he saw the old, faded rugs under his combat boots. He was home. Five rolled the wagon, filled to the brim with all of the stuff he'd foraged for today, to the side by a large pile of similar stuff. He plucked Dolores, who was wearing her favorite polka-dotted blouse, from the wagon and arranged her gently on a throne made of pillows. His own pile of pillows and blankets and various soft things sat next to it.

"What music tonight, Dolores?" Five inquired, bending down and running knobby fingers through the records. He turned back to the mannequin's frozen expression and made a incredulous face at her. "Really? I thought you said it sounded like 'Russian cult music?'" He did air quotes. Apparently Dolores snapped at him, because he lifted both hands in a show of surrender. "Alright, Alright, Russian rock it is." He said with a laugh. The boy dug out a tattered album with art of a bunch of bears sipping different types of alcohol and set the big, round vinyl under the needle. Harsh, screechy guitar played through the crackly speakers. Soon, a deep, haunting voice started to sing. Guttural background vocals started, and Five grumbled nonsense words along with it, miming a microphone by his mouth. He soon burst into laughter and stopped, grabbing a large bottle of clear liquid from the wagon. 

"Oh, come on, doll." It was Five's pet name for Dolores, and he loved how flustered it made her. He flashed the mannequin a charming grin. "It's just one bottle. I deserve it, don't you think? Braving through five years with only you, my dear, for company, scrounging around for food and knowledge to save the world? I'm pretty awesome." He grinned at whatever Dolores's reply was and unscrewed the cap of the bottle. The liquid burned as it flowed down his throat. It was rum, with a vaguely caramelly and nutty taste to it. He swallowed and opened his mouth with an 'ah.' It was really good. Five plopped himself down on his giant pillow throne by Dolores's and started to down the bottle, taking giant swigs of burning liquid. He started to get sluggish despite the fiery feeling in his stomach. 

The boy giggled and opened a five-year old Twinkie, despite Dolores' protests. He ate it in one bite, and it wasn't too stale, surprisingly. He washed it down with another swig of rum. His speech was slurred, his movements slow and uncontrolled. "I'll be fiiiineee, Dolores." He said, waving the mannequin's concerns away with a weak hand. Five gasped suddenly and drunkenly mimicked his head exploding. "Honey, you know what I've never done? Worn a fuckin' skirt! Oh my God, how have I never-!" He trailed off and struggled to get to his feet. He swayed towards a pile of clothes that lay in a corner. Usually he preferred to remain in his old uniform's shirt and tie, a big, leather aviator's jacket over it. He dragged his worn blue jeans down his pale, skinny legs. Dolores was reminded of that time in Five's first year in the apocalypse when he'd stripped naked and run screaming through the streets, having a giant breakdown. He was eventually reminded of his mortality when he almost stepped on a few different rusty nails and realized he could die of Tetanus before ever returning to his family. Then he'd calmed down and come back to Dolores, put his clothes on, and done some research about how to get home.

Now, the boy stood in front of his mannequin wearing a very Klaus-reminiscent outfit. There was a black pleated skirt that hung above his knees, a button-up tucked messily in at the waist. He scrounged around for one more piece and quickly found the perfect one: a torn black blazer that he shrugged on immediately.

"Ta-da!" He slurred, spinning for Dolores and almost falling down. He laughed and went back to the pile of clothes. "I have an idea, Dolores." He pulled out a few more odd articles, the mannequin looking on, seeming interested. He changed quickly and presented himself to Dolores once again. This time, he was wearing the suit jacket and pants of a pinstripe suit with an obnoxiously bright Hawaiian shirt on underneath. "How do I look? Ravishingly handsome?" He laughed at Dolores's sarcastic response. He gasped loudly and rushed back to the pile of clothes, returning with a long, red, sequin-covered dress. Five changed the mannequin quickly and chastely into the dress. She lay on her throne of pillows, looking regal and extremely sparkly. "How do you look?" He erupted into giggles and lowered himself back into his pillow throne, picking up the rum bottle again. "Just- Just one more sip." He told the mannequin before downing half of what was left in the bottle. "You're the most beautiful girl on Earth, Dolores." He gasped, feigning hurt at the doll's response. "I know! Even if there were other girls on Earth, you'd be the most beautiful. You know I've never been much interested in girls anyways." A comfortable silence settled over them, and Five sipped rum, listening to the Russian voices singing raspily over loud, harsh guitar. The record scratched to a stop. "Oh, man."

Five stumbled again to his feet and picked out a Beach Boys album with a sly grin on his face. The album started playing, starting with silence and slight scratchy interference from the needle. Cheery, bright music started to play, bouncy guitar and a soft melody. Five turned to Dolores with a grin.

"Don't be like that, hon, I know you love this song!" She did. It was 'Wouldn't It Be Nice,' one of her favorites. The boy approached the mannequin, bowing awkwardly and extending his hand. "Dance with me!" He paused and pursed his lips. "I'm not that drunk. Yeah, I promise! C'mon!" Apparently she relented, because Five picked her up, taking her white, plastic hand in his grimy one. 

They spun and swayed together to the upbeat music. Five sang along, though in his drunken state he often messed up of got the words wrong. Dolores didn't mind much though. The boy pressed her cold, hard torso to his. She laid her chin on his shoulder and he smiled widely. They danced to a few more songs before Five, thoroughly tired, collapsed into his many pillows, Dolores sitting stiff in his lap. He laughed breathlessly and bobbed his head along to the song playing, one he didn't know the words to yet. He hadn't intended to, but he fell asleep there, mannequin nestled by his side, snoring loudly as he did, alcohol flowing through his veins.

He may have woken up to the same desolate sight he always did, now with his head pounding and his limbs heavy, but he didn't mind as much. He had some company. He had his haven where he could get wasted and distract himself from the world's end lying around him for miles and miles. He could sing and dance badly with Dolores until the sun went out.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I'll add one more chapter with some Five fanart- I'll probably draw him and Dolores in their various outfits!


End file.
